


Of Merfolk and Misadventures

by ghostinthelibrary



Series: Where There's a Witcher [3]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mermaids, Sea Monsters, everybody has feelings and no one knows how to handle them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 10:21:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22848583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostinthelibrary/pseuds/ghostinthelibrary
Summary: After returning a kidnapped mermaid to her home in the sea, Jaskier convinces Geralt to stay in the picturesque coastal town for a relaxing getaway. But instead of romantic moonlight swims and drinks with umbrellas in them, they encounter a vicious species of merfolk intent on waging war on the local human population.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Where There's a Witcher [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1604140
Comments: 126
Kudos: 1047





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Subtitle of this could be “the continuing adventures of two idiots who are still realizing they have feelings for each other, even though they’ve been making out for months now.”
> 
> As I’ve started listening to the books, I’ll be incorporating some plots and characters from the books into this series. The merfolk in this story are based on the monsters from the short story “A Little Sacrifice” in _Sword of Destiny,_ as are the characters Sh’eenaz and Agloval.
> 
> ETA 6/30/20: Thank you to Terresdebrume for the beautiful cover image for this fic! Cover images for the whole series can be found at https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/terresdebrume/622249613697662977

The mermaid isn’t moving, which is what worries Jaskier the most. He’s never seen a mermaid up close before, but he has seen them darting through the water before, their colorful scales glittering in the sunlight before they vanish beneath the waves. Mermaids are fast, he knows, faster than any creature on land. That’s why there are so few photographs of them; they move too quickly for any but the most seasoned wildlife photographer to get a good shot. But this mermaid is utterly still in the too-small aquarium the frat boys have shoved her into. Her deep green hair floats around her head, obscuring her face, and her silver tail is pulled up to her chest. She doesn’t react as Jaskier approaches her.

Jaskier kneels down next to the aquarium so that his face is level with hers. It would be a spacious aquarium for a couple of goldfish, but the mermaid barely fits. He feels a wave of disgust for the spoiled, pretentious boys downstairs, currently being given a stern talking to by Geralt. As soon as he saw the comment on his latest blog post telling him that a group of college boys had decided to celebrate their summer holidays by kidnapping a mermaid and keeping her in their frat house, he knew this was going to be a rough one. Still, he winces at the purpling bruises on upper arms. 

His Elder is rusty; it’s been five years since his studies at Oxenfurt. Still, he says slowly in Elder, “Hi, my name is Jaskier. I’m here to get you out of here. Are you hurt?”

The mermaid doesn’t react. He wonders if she’s dead; he can’t tell if she’s breathing. He’s not even sure if mermaids need to breathe.

“Are you hurt?” he asks again. When he doesn’t get a response, he tentatively reaches into the water to feel for a pulse (if mermaids even have pulses; he really should have looked this up on the car ride over.)

Quick as lightning, the mermaid’s arm lashes out and grabs Jaskier. Needle-like teeth dig into Jaskier’s forearm and a hand locks around his throat. Jaskier cries out and splutters as his head is dragged underwater. For a moment, he struggles and gropes for the syringe in his pocket. He almost didn’t take it from Geralt; he thought it was a cruel way to treat a creature who’s been subject to too much human cruelty. But now, with dark spots filling his vision and the mermaid intent on simultaneously drowning and strangling him, he lashes out blindly with the syringe. It meets its target and he presses down. The mermaid goes limp instantly.

Gasping, Jaskier straightens up. His arm is bleeding, his neck is bruised, and he’s fairly certain his brand new shirt is ruined. That might be his fault; he should know better than to wear a dry clean only shirt anywhere in Geralt’s vicinity. He checks the mermaid’s neck for a pulse and is relieved to find one, slow and steady beneath his fingers.

“Jaskier?” Geralt calls from downstairs. There’s an edge to his voice.

“I’m fine!” The wounds in his arms are bleeding, but shallow. “Tell those little fuckers down there that they owe me a new shirt.”

Awkwardly, he lifts the mermaid into his arms. Her scales are slippery and she’s heavier than her slight frame would indicate. It’s a bit embarrassing, how much he struggles to carry her down the stairs. Maybe it’s time to actually use the gym membership he’s had for the last three years. Downstairs, he finds Geralt standing in front of a row of cowed-looking college boys. His swords are still strapped to his back, but from the look on the boys’ face, he might as well be waving them around.

“Have you all had a nice chat about respecting women, magical and otherwise?” Jaskier asks. He’s proud to note that his breathing is only slightly labored.

Geralt’s cool yellow gaze flickers over him. “What happened?”

“She tried to drown me, so I had to drug her.” Jaskier shrugs. “She seems to distrust human men. Can’t imagine why that would be.”

“We were going to bring her back,” one of the boys, a stocky kid with an unfortunate fake tan, whines. “It was just a joke.”

“This joke has sharp teeth and a grudge,” Jaskier says coldly. “Want us to hang around long enough for her to wake up?”

Under all the orange goop, the boy goes pale.

“That’s what I fucking thought.”

“If I hear about any more mermaids being captured.” Geralt’s voice is a growl. Jaskier watches in satisfaction as the boys cower. “Or dryads, or nymphs, or any other kind of creature, I’ll be back. And next time, I won’t be so understanding.”

“My parents—” one of the other boys starts to say with a sneer, but Geralt snarls at him as the boy’s eyes bug out of his head.

“Let’s go, Geralt,” Jaskier says, because he’s spent nearly a year undoing the damage caused by Blaviken and if Geralt loses his temper and stabs a sniveling frat boy, no matter how much said frat boy deserved it, all those songs and blog posts will be for nothing. Plus, Jaskier doesn’t want his contact with Geralt reduced to monthly conjugal visits.

“We could call the police,” he adds to the witcher, once they’re outside.

Geralt shakes his head, mouth pressed into a thin line. Jaskier can see that he’s furious. “If it were a human girl, it might be worth it. But the law will treat this as animal abuse. They’ll get a fine, maybe community service.”

“That’s bullshit.”

Geralt grunts. “The best thing we can do for her is return her home. They told me they picked her up in a resort town near Corvo Bianco.”

Jaskier brightens. “We’re going to the beach?”

“Just to drop her off. Then back to Posada.”

Jaskier groans. Posada is miserable, smelly, and hot at this time of year. He would kill to feel a sea breeze in his hair and sand beneath his toes. But he doesn’t complain as he situates the mermaid in the backseat of Geralt’s trusty old sedan, Roach, and wraps damp towels around her tail to keep her hydrated. As soon as the mermaid is settled, Geralt takes his arm and studies the puncture wounds.

“These are deep,” the witcher says.

“I’ve had worse.”

“Hm.” Geralt hesitates, then presses a kiss to the inside of Jaskier’s wrists. They’ve known each other for almost a year and have been doing this for months, and the feeling of Geralt’s lips against his skin still sends a delightful shiver through Jaskier.

“We’ll stop at a motel overnight,” Geralt says. “And we can patch you up there.”

“Sounds like a plan. I think I’ll need a lot of tending to.” Jaskier smiles up at him.

Geralt snorts. “We’ll have an angry, scared mermaid with us.”

“Maybe the tending to can wait until tomorrow.”

“Just get in the car, Jaskier.” Geralt shakes his head. “It’s a long drive.”

***

Two of the puncture marks left by the mermaid’s teeth are deep enough to need stitches. Jaskier sits on the sagging motel bed while Geralt stitches up his arm. The witcher’s hands are slow and steady as he works. It shouldn’t be nearly as hot as it is, but Jaskier feels that way about a lot of Geralt’s traits that he finds irresistible.

“It might scar,” Geralt says as he ties off the last stitch.

“I’m just trying to match you,” Jaskier tells him.

“That’s unlikely. You wouldn’t survive many of the wounds that caused my scars.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“It has nothing to do with confidence. Humans are prone to dying of blood loss.”

Jaskier sighs and glances at the closed bathroom door. “I guess we should go feed her.”

“You should go feed her.”

“Me?” Jaskier demands, indignant. “She nearly bit my arm off!”

“My presence causes her too much distress. She might hurt herself trying to escape.” When the mermaid woke up in the back seat of the car, she took one look at Geralt and got so upset, Jaskier had to sedate her again.

“Damn it,” Jaskier says, because he knows Geralt is right. “Just wait outside the bathroom door. If I scream, come running.”

“Don’t I always?”

Running to the rescue when Jaskier starts screaming is practically Geralt’s hobby by now. Jaskier picks up the package of fresh fish they just picked up from the grocery store across the way and steps into the bathroom. The mermaid glares at him from the bathtub, her tail flicking irritably from side to side, much like Jaskier’s cat Mousesack when his food bowl is only half-full. The drugs appear to have worn off; her vibrant green eyes, only a few shades lighter than her hair, are lucid.

“We brought you dinner.” Jaskier tosses her the package of fish, careful to stay out of range of her hands and teeth. She makes no motion to catch it and it plops into the water.

“We’re here to help,” he continues in stilted Elder. He really needs to find a refresher course online. “We’re going to take you home. We won’t hurt you.”

She doesn’t speak, but bares her teeth at him. The silent _”I’d like to see you try”_ is obvious.

“Can you understand me?” Jaskier asks.

“Your Elder sounds like the mumblings of a drunken baboon,” the mermaid says in perfect common tongue. Her speech is lilting, almost musical.

Jaskier draws himself up, outraged. He got an A in Elder class, all four semesters he took it! “Well, your common sounds… actually, pretty excellent. Well done.”

She scowls at him. “I can’t eat these. They reek of death.”

“That’s because they’re dead. I was told they were freshly caught.”

“You were lied to.”

“Well, I’m sorry if you prefer your prey live, but I’m not going to go hunt down someone’s pet goldfish. What else do you eat? I can’t offer you human flesh.”

“Humans taste disgusting. I would rather starve. I eat seaweed and plankton too.”

“I can’t get either of those things at a human grocery store. Wait, hold on.” Jaskier goes back into the hotel room, ignoring Geralt’s questioning look, and returns with a tub of cheese puffs. “Try these.”

He sits on the toilet next to the bathtub and hands her one. She doesn’t try to drown him or bite him again, which seems like progress.

The mermaid nibbles on the edge of the cheese puff. “These aren’t bad. What’s in them?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Jaskier says. “Look, I need you to understand that Geralt is not a threat to you. He would never hurt a defenseless creature.”

“Come closer, blue eyes. I’ll show you how defenseless I am.”

Jaskier tosses her another cheese puff. “My name is Jaskier. What’s yours?”

“Sh’eenaz.”

“Nice to meet you, Sh’eenaz.”

“Your friend is a witcher.”

“That he is.”

“He kills things like me.”

“No, he kills monsters who have hurt people. You were the victim here. Geralt and I found out that those assholes had kidnapped a mermaid and we came to help. We wouldn’t go to all the trouble of saving you just to kill you.”

“Do you know how those boys captured me?” Sh’eenaz’s eyes flash. “They were boating and one of them fell into the water. He was drowning and his friends were too drunk to notice. So I saved him, dragged him back to land. I gave him mouth-to-mouth, like I’ve seen the humans do. And they repaid my kindness by tying me up and throwing me into their car. Your witcher should have killed them.”

Jaskier wants to be sick. “I think he wanted to, trust me. You’re safe now.”

“There’s no safety in a world where men like that exist.”

Jaskier thinks of Stregobor, and then shakes the thought away. He’s been spending months trying not to think of the sorcerer who kidnapped him, tortured him, and tried to use him to get to Geralt and Ciri. Stregobor is dead now, buried under the rubble of his collapsed tower. “But people like Geralt also exist.”

“And people like you.” She smiles at him, revealing lots of sharp little teeth. It’s not as friendly as she probably intends it. “You smell like him.”

“Well, Geralt smells fantastic, so I’ll take that as a compliment, thanks. And he’s my… well, boyfriend isn’t the right word. We haven’t defined it yet. He’s my…”

“Lover?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“I had one of those, once.” Sh’eenaz studies the cracks on the tile walls. “He was a human. He wanted me to give up the ocean and take a potion to give myself legs so we could be together. So I told him to fuck off.”

Jaskier decides at that moment that Sh’eenaz is his new best friend.

They sit in contemplative silence for a while and eat cheese puffs. When the mermaid seems satisfied and sleepy, Jaskier goes to leave.

“Blue eyes?” Sh’eenaz asks behind him.

“Yes, green eyes?” Jaskier quips, earning him another toothy smile.

“Thank you,” she says simply. “You and your witcher have been kind when you didn’t need to be. I hope I can repay the favor someday.”

“You don’t owe us, or any other humans, anything. Goodnight, Sh’eenaz.” Gently, Jaskier closes the door behind him.

***

Sh’eenaz goes through two more tubs of cheese puffs the next morning. She’s a sloppy eater, what with the needle-like teeth, and Jaskier can see Geralt go through all five stages of grief over Roach’s leather seats. The mermaid still gets twitchy whenever Geralt looks at her, but she seems to like Jaskier well enough. By the time they’ve gotten to the beach and Jaskier carries her to the water, he realizes he’s going to miss the prickly mermaid.

“It’s been lovely, blue eyes,” Sh’eenaz says as they stand on the shore. Geralt hangs back. “Thank you for the cheese puffs. And the gallant rescue.”

“I’d give you some more cheese puffs, but I don’t think they’d do well underwater.”

“A shame.” She clicks her tongue. “Alright, put me back in.”

Jaskier lowers her into the surf. Without looking back, she swims out to sea, her silver tail glinting in the sun. She resurfaces to wave at Jaskier one last time, and then she’s gone.

“Alright, blue eyes.” Geralt’s voice drips with sarcasm. “The gallant rescue is over.”

Jaskier grins. “Are you jealous, Geralt?”

“Hm.”

“Is it that she thought I was her hero, or that she liked my blue eyes so much?”

“We’re heading back, Jaskier.”

The waves feel pleasantly cool against Jaskier’s toes. “Or we could not. We don’t have any more jobs lined up. I could ask one of my neighbors to feed Mousesack and call out of work for a couple of days. There’s a stomach bug going around, so they won’t ask any questions. We could stay here for a night or two.”

“Why would we do that?” Geralt comes to stand next to him.

“Because look at this place.” Jaskier gestures around at the blue sky, the clear water, the white sand beach. “It’s beautiful here. Where’s a better place to get away for a couple of days?”

“Get away from what?”

“Everything, Geralt. It’s called a vacation. When’s the last time you went on one of those?” At Geralt’s silence, he asks, “Wait, have you ever taken a vacation?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“They’re a recent invention. It used to be that the roads were too dangerous and journeys took too long. People didn’t travel unless they had a reason. A long weekend wasn’t worth being eaten by a griffin.”

“Well, first we got you a cell phone, then an email address. And now we’ll introduce you to a new exciting new invention, the vacation!”

“We go places all the time, Jaskier,” Geralt says.

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “I feel like I shouldn’t have to explain to you the difference between a monster hunt and a vacation.”

“Hm.”

“Come on.” Jaskier grabs Geralt’s hands in his. Geralt’s hands are huge, with broad, calloused palms and long fingers. “Just a night. We can get dinner someplace nice. Go for a swim, preferably naked. The hotels around here are crazy expensive, so we can sleep on the beach, under the stars. It will be romantic.”

“Romantic.”

“Or don’t you do romance either?” Jaskier brushes his nose against Geralt’s. It’s complete bullshit; Jaskier knows that Geralt does romance. The witcher’s version of romance is gifting Jaskier an elven lute after he broke his guitar in a cockatrice fight, or always putting himself between Jaskier and incoming danger. It’s making sure that there’s always a freshly brewed pot of coffee when Jaskier wakes up and pulling him close in the middle of the night whenever Jaskier snaps awake from one of his many nightmares. It’s not grand declarations of love (though sometimes, Jaskier could really do with a grand declaration from him.)

“Okay,” Geralt says softly. “Let’s stay the night.”

Jaskier kisses him, slow and sweet, as the waves crash behind them.

***

They park Roach on the beach, in a secluded little cove away from the hustle and bustle of the resort beaches. Jaskier finds a cute sandwich shop nearby and picks them up some sandwiches, a loaf of bread, and a bottle of wine. They sit under the stars, leaning against Roach, and eat, pausing for the occasional lazy kiss. It’s everything Jaskier could want in a night away with Geralt. The air smells like salt and the breeze feels divine on his face, especially after Geralt lends him his jacket. He’s so madly in love with the man sitting next to him that he feels like he might burst with it.

He’s known that he’s in love with Geralt for a long time now. He’s only told him once, in that stupid voicemail he left Geralt when he thought he was about to be murdered by a doppler, but they haven’t discussed it. But some nights, Jaskier feels like if he opens his mouth, the words are going to come tumbling out. He’s never been one to hold back what he’s thinking, but this is one thing that he needs to hold back. He’s ruined plenty of relationships and almost-relationships with his tendency to get ahead of himself. He can’t bear for this thing with Geralt be the latest casualty.

Jaskier needs a distraction, and there’s a sprawling, lovely distraction in front of him. “Let’s go for a swim.”

To his surprise, Geralt eyes the ocean with trepidation. “I’ll stay here.”

“Do you not like the water?” Jaskier asks. “Are you afraid of sea monsters, oh mighty witcher?”

“There won’t be any sea monsters here. Water’s too shallow. And I already asked around about sirens, nixa, and kelpies.”

Of course he has. “Then what’s wrong?”

“You can’t stab a rip current or a tidal wave.”

“If you start to drown, I’ll save you.”

Geralt snorts. Jaskier resents the skepticism, since he’s saved the witcher’s skin a couple of times (or at least he’s tried to and ended up in mortal peril.) But he knows he could stand here and argue with Geralt all night, so he pulls off his shirt and starts to head towards the water. He can feel Geralt’s eyes on his back as he walks, so he slips off his shorts and lets them puddle in the sand. Behind him, Geralt makes a small sound and Jaskier can’t stop the grin from spreading across his face. He doesn’t look back at the witcher until he’s up to his waist in the water, the current gently tugging at him.

“Sure you don’t want to come in?” he calls.

“You’ll want me warm and dry later when you’re freezing your balls off.”

Jaskier swims backwards, his eyes never leaving Geralt’s. It’s dark on the beach, with Roach’s headlights providing the only source of light. Geralt sits just outside the circle of light, half of his face cast in shadow. Still, Jaskier can tell that the witcher is watching him intently. “It feels nice, actually. Refreshing.”

“That’s not going to stop you from whining that you’re cold later.”

“It will only be a ploy to get you to cuddle, and it will work.”

Geralt smiles at him, a real smile. Geralt’s smiles are rare enough that Jaskier always knows that he’s earned them.

“The water really does feel nice,” Jaskier says. “And I’m naked. Just pointing that out. In case you forgot.”

“You could be naked over here, on dry land.”

“All in good time.” Jaskier takes a deep breath and plunges under the water, taking several breast strokes to get farther from the shore. When he resurfaces, Geralt is on his feet, sword in hand.

“Jaskier, get out of the water.” There’s no more smile on Geralt’s face, no trace of tenderness or teasing.

“Sorry.” It’s too deep for Jaskier to stand now; he treads water to stay afloat. “Sorry, I should have warned you I was going under. Didn’t mean to scare you. Everything’s fine!”

“Jaskier, swim, now!”

There’s a splash behind him, then another. It’s not the rhythmic crash of the waves; it sounds like a very large stone being dropped into the water. Geralt shouts his name again and Jaskier looks around to see three creatures standing behind him. They almost look humanoid, if not for the spines on their back and the too-large eyes that remind Jaskier horribly of the dead fish he tried to feed Sh’eenaz the night before. Each of them holds a curved, serrated blade the length of Jaskier’s forearm. All of them are looking straight at Jaskier and he can see his death in their eyes.

Jaskier starts to swim backwards, but he already knows it’s hopeless. He’s a good swimmer, but not good enough to outrun some kind of merfolk. Geralt crashes through the waves towards him, but Jaskier can see that he’s clumsy in the water in a way he’s never been on land. The witcher is used to having two feet firmly planted on the ground when he fights. Geralt shouts at Jaskier to duck, so Jaskier dives below the waves. The water above him lights up as Geralt casts Igni. When he resurfaces, the charred corpse of one of the merfolk floats facedown in the water, but a half dozen more have joined the two survivors. They circle Geralt, stabbing and slashing at them with their blades. Geralt takes two more of them out with Igni, but Jaskier can see more spined backs rising from the waves. More are coming, possibly dozens more, and Geralt won’t be able to take them all out before one of those blades buries itself in his heart.

“Geralt!” Jaskier shouts, hating the fear and despair in his voice.

Geralt’s eyes meet his over the heads of his attackers. “Jaskier, run!”

Jaskier should run, or swim. He’s not going to be any use to Geralt against a small army of sea monsters. But they’re here because of him. He’s the one who begged Geralt to stay the night. It was his idea to sleep on the beach. The skinny dipping was his attempt at seduction. If Geralt dies here, Jaskier won’t be able to live with himself. He’ll always know that this was entirely his fault.

And he’ll never have told Geralt that he loves him. For real, to Geralt’s face.

The roar of an engine interrupts Jaskier’s panic. Before he can register the sound, a speedboat zips through the crowd of sea creatures. It comes so close to Jaskier that the wake slaps him in the face and he goes under the water, sputtering and choking. Something bumps into him and he flinches backwards, until he realizes that it’s one of the merfolk’s severed arms. It occurs to him that it might be time to rethink his life choices once severed limbs become a relief.

The boat zips around them again, taking out more of the merfolk, and comes to a stop next to Jaskier. An enormous shape looms over Jaskier, silhouetted by the moonlight. “Kid, get in.”

Jaskier can’t make out many of the man’s features, but he gets a glimpse of animalistic yellow eyes. Witcher eyes. He freezes, his memory going to the one non-Geralt witcher he’s met before. A gun pressed to his heart. Hands around his throat. A knife at his back. There are plenty of monsters that haunt his dream. That one was the worst.

“Get in, or die here,” the strange witcher says. “Your choice.”

Jaskier doesn’t need any more encouragement. He hauls himself into the boat. Aware of his own nakedness, he draws his knees up to his chest to preserve his dignity. But the witcher isn’t paying any attention to him. Instead, the witcher throws a rope into the water. A moment later, he drags a gasping, soaking wet Geralt into the boat. Jaskier can hear the guttural cries of the merfolk and he shudders.

“Lambert.” Geralt’s voice is shockingly even, given what just happened. “It’s been a while.”

“Hello, Geralt.” The other witcher claps a hand on Geralt’s shoulder. “I’m sure you’re as excited to catch up as I am. Though it seems like you have more to tell than I do.” His eyes flicker to Jaskier, who can’t stop himself from flinching back. “But it’ll have to wait until a bunch of web-footed bastards aren’t trying to kill us.”

One of the merfolk starts to clamber onto the boat. Without missing a beat, Geralt kicks it in the face and sends it squealing back into the ocean. The other witcher, Lambert, pulls the boat away and they leave the shrieking of the merfolk behind.

As they speed away from the battle, Geralt crawls over to Jaskier. He looks shaken, which freaks Jaskier out almost as much as the sea monsters. It takes a lot to rattle Geralt. “Are you okay?” they demand at the same time. Geralt’s hands travel over Jaskier, checking for wounds, and Jaskier leans into Geralt, even though he doesn’t provide much in the way of body warmth right now.

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier says. Geralt has a bloody slash across his collarbone, and another on his side. “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“That wasn’t your fault.” Geralt pulls him closer.

The engine whines to a stop and the other witcher turns around to study them, his expression obscured in the darkness. “Geralt,” he says. “What the fuck are you doing, making an amateur mistake like wandering into a nest of sea monsters?”

***

“It’s been going on since the beginning of the summer.” Lambert puts two mugs of coffee down in front of Jaskier and Geralt. “At least eighteen dead, that they know of. Same MO, some idiot goes for a midnight swim or wanders too close to the water and a small army of merfolk appear and butcher them.”

Jaskier ignores the jab and slurps down the mug of coffee. He’s still shivering, even though Lambert lent him a massive t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants that are so big on him, he has to hold them up when he walks. The witcher never said a word about Jaskier being naked when he picked them up, though it’s one of the few things Lambert hasn’t said a word about.

Jaskier looks in between Geralt and Lambert. The only similarity that Jaskier can see is the yellow color of their eyes. Lambert is taller than Geralt, but his shoulders aren’t as broad, and his hair is darker. He wears a button-up shirt in a colorful tropical pattern and sandals, a sharp contrast to the all-black outfit Geralt wears every day. But the biggest difference is their facial expressions. All of Geralt’s are microscopic: a tilt of his head, a curl of his lips, a wrinkle of his brow. Lambert, on the other hand, seems to have no issue expressing his feelings, and right now all of his feelings seem to be exasperation, disgust, and second-hand embarrassment.

“Why haven’t we heard about this?” Geralt asks.

“Agloval has spent a small fortune to keep it out of the press.” Lambert settles down across from them. His rickety plastic chair groans under him.

“Agloval?”

“Owns the local resort, and half the town, for that matter. Real motherfucker. Best thing he could do is wander into the water and the sheer bullshit flowing through his veins would probably poison all the merfolk.”

“What’s been done?” Geralt asks.

“Well, they’ve closed off the beach where most of the killings have happened. Didn’t you wonder why there was an empty stretch of beach at the height of tourist season? Didn’t you see the signs?”

“‘Beach closed’ doesn’t really encompass the fact that there are sea monsters swimming around,” Jaskier mutters.

“Of course it doesn’t! Signs that say, ‘Stay away, or face certain death’ are going to scare the tourists, and Agloval would rather chop off his own balls. If you’d stayed there long enough, a patrol would have come around and told you to clear off.”

They were there for hours and Jaskier didn’t see any hint of a patrol, but he decides not to argue.

“Is that why you were out in your boat?” Geralt asks. “You were patrolling?”

“Fuck no.” Lambert laughs. It’s a booming sound without any actual humor. “I like fishing at night. No tourists reeking of sunscreen and cheap liquor splashing about. I was heading out to my favorite spot when I heard you yell, Geralt. Almost didn’t recognize your voice. No, I’m retired. Have been for about thirty years. I don’t get involved in the monster hunting business anymore.”

“Witchers retire?” Jaskier asks.

“Few of us are given the chance,” Lambert says. “I saw it, and I took it. This house used to be some rich bastard’s third vacation home. Got it from him for saving both his sons from a nest of nixa. Anyway, I got bored a few years back and took a contract from Agloval to deal with an alp that had been skulking around the resort. The fucker didn’t pay me a coin of what I was owed because I cornered her in the lobby and killed her in front of a couple of guests.” The witcher spits in disgust. “He’s tried to hire me to deal with this, but I told him to pay me for the alp or fuck off. He hasn’t paid me for the alp yet.”

“You said eighteen people have died.” There’s no accusation in Geralt’s voice.

“Yeah, humans are good at that.”

“Hm.”

“You and your grunts.” Lambert laughs again. “You can just say what you’re thinking, Geralt. That I should be giving up my retirement to chase after merfolk. You saw them. One witcher isn’t going to be a match for them. They’re strong, they’re fast, and they hardly ever leave the water. Plus, there are too many of them. I spent four hundred years chasing after monsters. Now, I just want some peace. Not all of us have a minstrel following us around, singing about our glory.”

“I’m a musician and a journalist,” Jaskier snaps. The fact that he’s currently working as a social media manager/office assistant at a failing startup doesn’t need to come up.

Lambert snorts. “Like I said, a minstrel.”

“At least I’m—”

Geralt cuts him off with a look. “Where can we find Agloval?”

“Over at the resort, probably, or out on his yacht with a group of girls young enough to be his granddaughters. But it’s not worth getting involved, Geralt. You could kill every sea monster for a hundred miles and he’d probably refuse to pay you because you tracked fish guts on his carpet.”

“Hm.” Geralt doesn’t look impressed.

Lambert groans. “Fine, don’t listen to me. You and your minstrel can stay the night here. It’s safer than sleeping on the fucking beach like a couple of damn fools.”

***

“So, you’ve known Lambert for a while?” Jaskier asks not too long after, up in the master bedroom. Lambert doesn’t sleep in the master bedroom—”too many fucking windows” he said when Jaskier asked--so he gave Geralt and Jaskier the use of it for the night. The mattress is lumpy and uncomfortable, but after the day he’s had, Jaskier isn’t about to complain. Much.

“Since we were boys at Kaer Morhen,” Geralt says from the bathtub. He’s stretched out languidly with his head tilted back, the picture of relaxation. Steam floats through the open bathroom door. Jaskier can’t drag his eyes away. “You don’t like him.”

“I thought I was being subtle.”

“You’re not subtle.”

Jaskier grins. “In my defense, I don’t think he likes me either.”

“Lambert doesn’t like anyone. Don’t take it personally.”

“But he likes you?”

“You sound surprised.”

“He seems pretty angry at the world.”

“He’s been like that since we were young, and it’s only gotten worse with age.” Geralt shrugs. “Would you like to keep talking about Lambert, or would you like to come over here?”

Jaskier would very, very much like to go over there. Geralt’s skin glistens with bathwater and Jaskier knows he’s watching Geralt like Geralt watched him on the beach. “You’re injured.”

“This? Hardly counts as a flesh wound.” Geralt flashes a sleepy smile. “Get in the tub, Jaskier. We may as well finish what we started earlier.”

Jaskier doesn’t need to be told twice; he peels off his borrowed clothes and slips into the bathtub, straddling Geralt and leaning his face against the witcher’s. Geralt’s skin always runs warm, but the bathwater has rendered it near-scalding. Under Jaskier, he feels solid and safe; the frantic struggle with the merfolk seems like it happened ages ago.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Jaskier says as Geralt’s hands find their way to his hips. “I was worried for a minute there.”

Geralt kisses his way down Jaskier’s throat. “So was I.”

When they’re done, and there’s more water on the bathroom floor than in a tub, they lie together on the lumpy mattress, entangled in each other’s arms. Jaskier smiles into Geralt’s shoulder. He can feel sleep starting to cloud his mind. “See, I told you this vacation would be romantic.”

Geralt’s chest rumbles with suppressed laughter. “Go to sleep, Jaskier. There are merfolk to deal with in the morning.”

***

Geralt is woken up by the sound of Jaskier gasping. This isn’t unusual. Jaskier has nightmares a few times a week. He never wants to talk about them, so Geralt isn’t sure if he still dreams about the witcher assassin who almost killed them, or if fresh horrors have taken over. He turns over and finds Jaskier staring at him, eyes still glazed with sleep. Jaskier’s pupils are enormous and his breathing comes out in rapid bursts.

“You’re alright,” Geralt tells him. “You’re safe.”

In his half-awake state, Jaskier seems soothed by the reassurances. He moves closer to Geralt, tucking his head under Geralt’s chin. Geralt holds him until Jaskier’s breathing returns to the slow, steady rhythm of sleep. Geralt knows that he won’t fall back to sleep so easily; he never does after being awakened by Jaskier’s nightmares. Every instinct is primed for an attack that he logically knows isn’t coming.

Jaskier makes a soft sound in the back of his throat and shifts closer to Geralt. Geralt can feel the fabric of the bandage around Jaskier’s arm rubbing against his waist. Gently, he removes Jaskier’s arm from around him and stands up. Jaskier stirs, but doesn’t wake, as Geralt leaves the bedroom.

Geralt walks the couple of miles back to where they left Roach. Their possessions have remained untouched, thankfully, but Roach’s battery is dead. That will have to be dealt with in the morning. He returns to Lambert’s cottage with his and Jaskier’s things. He can tell that Jaskier hates Lambert’s clothes, and he can’t blame him. When he walks into Lambert’s kitchen, he finds the other witcher waiting for him at his kitchen table.

“Late for a walk,” Lambert says.

Geralt grunts. “Sorry to disturb you.”

“I was already up, just worried you were going to abandon that kid with me.”

“I wouldn’t do that. There would be no survivors.”

Lambert bares his teeth into a grin. “What ever happened to that witch, the crazy one with the purple eyes? I always figured you two would fuck forever until one of you killed the other. My money was on her.”

“Yenn’s still a friend.”

“Eh, she’ll still be around in sixty years or so. I doubt she minds waiting.”

It takes Geralt a moment to realize what Lambert is implying. His hands curl into fists. “Fuck off, Lambert.”

“You know how humans are, Geralt. Someone looks at them wrong, and they die on the spot. When I first heard that kid’s songs, I thought he was making the whole thing up. No way the Geralt of Rivia I knew would let a human teenager with no combat training tag along with him.”

“He just turned twenty-six. Not a teenager.” He won’t tell Lambert that he’s tried calculating exactly how long he’ll have with Jaskier. Human lifespans tend to last until their eighties or nineties, if left to their own devices, but there are so many things that can happen. Cancers that can’t be fought with magic, heart attacks, air conditioners falling out of windows, cars running red lights. Not to mention wyverns and cockatrices and all the creatures that Jaskier seems to attract. The only certainty is that he will lose Jaskier someday and he’s trying to not already mourn a loss that may not come for decades.

Lambert’s laughs. Back at Kaer Morhen, he was always prone to crossing the line into cruelty with his humor, sometimes intentionally, sometimes not. Geralt has broken his hand on the other witcher’s jaw not once, but twice. Tonight might be the third time. “I guess he’s sturdier than he looks, from the sounds I was hearing from your room earlier.”

“He can hold his own in a fight.” 

Lambert must see in Geralt’s face that he’s edging dangerously close to a line, because he changes the subject. “You just missed Eskel. He was here last week. Stops by once a year.”

“How is he?”

“Same as ever. Still drives around in that ugly camper of his, relocating monsters. And Vesemir still won’t leave the ruins of Kaer Morhen, no matter how much I tell him he’s a thousand fucking years old and it’s time to retire already. It’s not like there are any secrets left in that hovel to guard. Haven’t heard from Coen in years. Dumb bastard probably went and got married again.”

“Hm.” From upstairs, he can hear Jaskier’s heart rate picking up. He’s having another nightmare and Geralt doesn’t want him to wake up alone.

“You really should stop by more,” Lambert says. “But next time, leave the kid at home. He makes me jumpy, the way he winces every time I look at him.”

“The last strange witcher he met tried to kill him twice.”

“Who the fuck are you calling strange?”

Geralt heads upstairs without replying. He enters the bedroom just as Jaskier jerks awake. Still half-asleep, Jaskier reach for the empty side of the bed and Geralt feels a little twist in his chest. Jaskier’s sleepy eyes peer up at him in the dark and he mutters something unintelligible, though Geralt guesses it’s a question about where he was.

“Just took a walk.” Geralt climbs back into bed and pulls Jaskier against him. He can feel Jaskier’s heart hammering against him. “I’m back now.”

Jaskier cuddles closer. His chin brushes the wound on Geralt’s collar bone. Geralt winces, but doesn’t pull away. “Don’t leave again,” Jaskier murmurs.

Geralt closes his eyes. Jaskier’s heart rate is already slowing down as he relaxes against Geralt. “I won’t."

***


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that this took longer than planned to post; this was officially One Of Those Weeks.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Jaskier tries not to be the type of person who judges people based on appearances. After all, he’s been on the receiving end of several unflattering snap judgements and doesn’t want to inflict that on anyone else. But the moment he claps eyes on Agloval, the first thing he thinks is _douchebag._ Agloval strikes him as an older version of the boys who kidnapped Sh’eenaz, with his expensive watch, too-white smile, and perfectly manicured nails. From what Lambert has told them, he’s at least in his seventies, but he’s either had some work done or has a very expensive mage on retainer, because he hardly looks older than forty.

Jaskier’s suspicion hardens into dislike as soon as Agloval claps eyes on Geralt. Before the man’s face smooths over into a smile, there’s an instant where his face fills with such an intense disgust, Jaskier half-expects him to spit at Geralt. For his part, Geralt ignores Agloval’s outstretched hand and stands, arms crossed, on the other side of Agloval’s desk.

“Tell me about the merfolk,” he says shortly.

Agloval’s brilliant smile wilts slightly at the edges, but his tone is carefully jovial when he speaks. “Please, sit. Can my assistant get you anything to drink? Tea or coffee? Something stronger, if you’re so inclined.”

Jaskier is sure Agloval has some fantastic liquor on hand, but Geralt bites out a curt “no” before he can ask.

“I was surprised to get your call, Mr. Rivia,” Agloval says and Geralt’s eyebrows quirk up. “We already have one witcher in town, and he’s been very clear that this isn’t his problem.”

“Witchers tend to do that, when we don’t get paid for completing contracts.”

Agloval’s smile wilts slightly. “Is that what he told you? His contract explicitly stated that he was to kill the alp somewhere where no guests could see it.”

“And at the end of the night, you had a dead alp and a resort full of living guests. Contract completed.”

“I suppose we’ll have to agree to disagree.”

“Or you could just tell me about the merfolk.”

Agloval’s eyes narrow. He pauses for a moment, most likely contemplating having them thrown out of his office, but instead he says, “First, it’s vitally important that this matter stays out of the public eye. We don’t want to cause panic.”

“Or have people cancel their vacations?” Geralt asks dryly. “When did it start?”

“At the end of last summer. A young couple was out on their boat and they vanished. From all the blood in the boat, it was clear they hadn’t survived the encounter. But they had a history of domestic tiffs, so no one thought much of it. The season ended and the beaches cleared. And then this past spring, it happened again. A group of college students were out on the water. Bloody boat, no bodies, no survivors. And then, a month later, a family was kayaking when they were attacked. But this time, the son managed to get away and tell people what had killed his parents and sister. It’s always quick and brutal and so far, only that young boy has survived an encounter with them. But since we closed that section of the beach, there’s only been one death, and that was just a vagabond sleeping on the beach.”

“Hm.”

Agloval was clearly expecting more of a response than that. “We have of course done everything to minimize the damage. We have police patrolling that section of beach day and night.”

“We were there for a good three hours the other night and we didn’t see any police,” Jaskier says.

“Agloval gives Jaskier an appraising look. “And who are you?”

“Oh, I’m Jaskier Pankratz. Geralt’s personal blogger.”

Agloval’s face whitens. “You’re a journalist?”

“He’s a singer,” Geralt says.

“No, I’m a journalist.” Jaskier flops down in the chair across from Agloval and flashes his most brilliant smile. “And we saw your sea monsters with our own eyes last night. How many lives do you think would have been saved if you’d closed the beach as soon as that boy told you what he saw? And how much money do you think the families of the victims will wring out of you once they find out that their loved ones went on vacation with no idea that they had to worry about being attacked by merfolk? I’m guessing a lot of fucking money.”

“We had no way of knowing…”

“You had a bunch of dead people. That’s a very compelling way of knowing.”

Agloval clears his throat. “I’m sure we could discuss…reimbursement for your discretion.”

Jaskier brightens. “Are you trying to bribe me?”

“He’s not interested,” Geralt growls from behind him.

“I could be. Depending on what the reimbursement is.”

Geralt settles his hands on the back of Jaskier’s chair. “You’re not interested.”

“Geralt, this is the first time someone has ever tried to bribe me. I feel like I’ve finally made it as a journalist. Don’t ruin it.”

_“Jaskier.”_

Jaskier sighs. “Fine, I’m not interested.”

“What changed recently?” Geralt asks. “It can be assumed these merfolk have lived in the area for years without this kind of slaughter. Something must have changed recently that would make them aggressive.”

Agloval hesitates. “Just the underwater hotel.”

“Underwater hotel?” Geralt asks in a voice like someone asking about a pile of dragon shit.

Agloval puffs out his chest. “It’s a groundbreaking project. One of a kind. We have a large team of architects and mages working on designing it. This will be the Continent’s first ever underwater hotel, with views of the coral reef and the sea life.”

“And killer merfolk,” Jaskier adds.

“We’ve been keeping the project quiet for the time being,” Agloval says.

“Yeah, it’s never great when a project like that makes the news for stirring up sea monsters.”

“When did this start?” Geralt asks.

“We laid the foundation about a year ago,” Agloval says. “Of course, we suspended construction after these...incidents started. But there’s no guarantee that this is the cause—”

“I’m sure it was an unrelated underwater construction project that stirred up their nest and pissed them off.”

The man’s face reddens. “Are you mocking me, witcher?”

“Yes.”

“I haven’t decided whether to hire you yet or not. Your brother witcher has proven himself to be a useless boor. I see no proof that you’d be any better.”

“Fine then. Keep letting people die and delaying your damn hotel. You can only keep mass slaughter quiet for so long. Even before the internet, covering things like this up never worked.”

Agloval is quiet for a moment, studying Geralt. His expression has lost all traces of its false cheer. Jaskier vastly prefers the man when he’s not trying to cover up the fact that he’s an asshole. “Fine, let’s talk price.”

Lambert was right--Agloval is a stingy bastard. When Agloval and Geralt have finally agreed on a price that neither of them are happy with, Agloval dismisses them. “Bring me every one of those bastards’ heads.”

Geralt pauses in the doorway. “They’re intelligent beings. I’ll only kill them if I can’t reason with them.”

“Then you won’t get a penny,” Agloval says. “You either kill them, witcher, or you get out of my town and don’t come back.”

***

“Well, he was an asshole,” Jaskier says as he and Geralt amble along the beach near where they were attacked the night before. Well, Jaskier ambles. Geralt strides ahead of him, his steps sure and focused.

Geralt only grunts in reply.

With a sigh, Jaskier hurries to catch up with him. “Why are you grumpy? Did Agloval bother you that much?”

“No.”

“Was it the bribe thing? I wasn’t going to take it, Geralt. I was just joking around.”

“I know.”

“Then why—”

“Jaskier, we’re dealing with an unspecified number of merfolk of an unknown species. We don’t know exactly what they’re capable of, what they want, or where they’re nested.”

“We’ll figure it out. We always do.”

“Hm.”

The ocean is blue and peaceful-looking. Jaskier watches it, thinking of all the tourists probably swimming and surfing less than a mile away, with no idea of what’s lurking under the surface. It’s amazing that Agloval’s greed hasn’t gotten more people killed. Given the ferocity of the attack last night, eighteen deaths seems like a low number. They continue down the beach until the soft, slippery sand under their feet becomes pebbles. Eventually, they come to an outcropping of rocks overlooking the water. The rocks look like giant steps descending into the ocean.

“Agloval said the foundation for the underwater hotel is a mile that way.” Geralt points out to sea.

“Are we going to go check it out?”

“I will, if Lambert lets me borrow his boat. You’ll stay behind.”

Jaskier groans. “I thought we were past this, Geralt.”

“This isn’t a group of drunken college boys. You nearly died last night.”

“So did you!”

Geralt’s expression tenses. “I didn’t think I would get to you in time.”

“You always get to me in time, Geralt.”

“I can’t protect you from everything,” Geralt growls, like saying it makes him want to punch something.

“Wait, is that why you’re cranky?” When the witcher doesn’t answer, Jaskier knows it’s true. “Of course you can’t protect me from everything. No one expects you to.”

Geralt is quiet for a long moment, staring out at the water. Jaskier is used to his silence; he even expects it at this point. Geralt has gotten chattier as they’ve gotten closer, but he still conveys most of his feelings in grunts and muttered curses.

“How old are your parents?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier and Geralt have never discussed Jaskier’s parents, beyond the fact that he doesn’t get along with them. Jaskier can’t even remember the last time he called home. “My dad’s turning sixty soon and my mom is a couple of years younger than him. Why?”

“And your grandparents?”

“They’re all dead,” Jaskier says. “My dad’s parents both lived to be in their nineties. My Gran on my mom’s side lived to be in her eighties, but she had Alzheimer’s for the last ten years of her life. But I never knew her husband; he died of a heart attack when my mom was just a kid.”

Geralt’s jaw works.

“Geralt, please don’t tell me that you’re brooding because of my inevitable mortality. Because that would be a real bummer.”

“I’m not brooding.”

“You are so brooding. Staring out at the sea like it personally killed your childhood dog is the definition of brooding.” Jaskier sighs. “I’m only twenty-six. I know it’s hard to remember that because of my air of gravitas and wisdom, but I’m in the prime of my life here. Save the worrying about me dying for at least another fifty years, please.”

Geralt starts to stride towards the rocks.

“Where are you going?” Jaskier hurries to catch up with him.

“I smell something. Dead fish.”

“We’re near the ocean, of course you smell--oh, ew, gross.”

Crumpled on the lowest rock is one of the merfolk corpses, half of its body still submerged in the ocean. Most of its face is gone, probably smashed by Lambert’s boat. Geralt climbs down the rocks and kneels down beside the corpse. Jaskier clumsily slides down after him.

“It doesn’t have spines on its back,” Jaskier says, studying the creature’s smooth back. “Didn’t some of the ones last night have spines?”

“Yes.”

So they’re back to monosyllabic responses. “And it has legs. That’s interesting. Almost like a siren, just not nearly as pretty.” What’s left of its jaw reveals needle-like teeth that remind him of Sh’eenaz.

“Hm.”

Jaskier sighs. “Geralt, are we really fighting because I’m going to die someday?”

“We’re not fighting.”

“Really, because it feels like we are. Ninety is a good, long life for someone like me. I know it’s hard for you to understand, because you’re like five hundred years old, but I don’t think I would even want to live for centuries.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, because I don’t want to end up—”

“Like me?”

“No! I just don’t want to live long enough to see all the fresh horrors the universe has to offer. I’d like to die with some vestige of faith in humanity.”

Geralt grunts. “With how much you nearly get yourself killed, you might get your wish.”

“It’s not like I try to get myself killed!”

“Could have fooled me.”

Jaskier has no idea what to say to him. This feels like the early days of knowing Geralt, when the witcher was just a good-looking, but grumpy enigma. “So, are you mad at me because of my inevitable death from old age, or because I nearly died last night? Or both? I’m having trouble keeping track.”

“I’m not mad at you.” Geralt shoves the dead creature off the rock. It sinks into the water with a plop.

“Could have fooled me.”

“Last night was my fault,” Geralt says. “I let myself get distracted and we both nearly paid the price. It won’t happen again.”

“What the hell do you mean, it won’t happen again? Because I hope you’re always distracted whenever I’m naked in front of you, Geralt. It’s kind of the point.”

“We don’t have time for this right now.” Geralt turns to haul himself up the rocks. “These merfolk aren’t going to go away on their own.”

“Yeah? Just like this conversation.” Jaskier stands with his hands planted on his hips, glaring up at Geralt. Mostly because he isn’t sure he’ll be able to climb up on his own, and he’ll be damned if he asks for Geralt’s help right now.

“Leave it, Jaskier. We’ll talk about it when we’re back in Posada.”

“No, we’ll talk about this right—” Jaskier feels a sudden tug at his ankle. He only has time to let out a startled, “Geralt!” before it yanks at him and he goes plunging into the depths.

***

One moment Jaskier is there, face flushed with anger, and then the next moment, he cries out for Geralt and is gone. Geralt doesn’t even see it happen; by the time he turns around, all he can see is the ripple in the water Jaskier just disappeared into. Geralt doesn’t hesitate. He leaves his swords on the rocks--they’ll just slow him down--and dives into the ocean after Jaskier. He swims frantically around. He surfaces frequently to call Jaskier’s name. Eventually, he goes to comb the beach, hoping Jaskier will have dragged himself to shore. But there’s no hint of him. Jaskier is gone.

Finally, Geralt calls Lambert. He’s sitting on the beach, soaking wet, when the other witcher pulls up in his boat. He keeps replaying those last few moments in his mind--the hurt in Jaskier’s eyes, the anger reddening his cheeks, the surprised gasp of “Geralt” right before he went into the water. Gods, Geralt acted stupidly. Stupid to pick a fight. Stupid to leave Jaskier on the rocks, just to get away from the fight he’d started. Stupid to bring Jaskier along at all when he knew the risks.

He leaves that part out when he recounts the morning’s events to Lambert. The other witcher is quiet throughout his tale, except for the occasional sympathetic noise. That’s what makes the horror of what just happened hit home for Geralt. Lambert is never quiet or sympathetic. He has to sink back down into the sand as the realization hits home that Jaskier is gone.

Lambert claps a hand on Geralt’s shoulder. “From what we can tell, they kill their victims quickly. They don’t torture or abuse them. They don’t make them suffer.”

Geralt closes his eyes. He knows the other witcher means to be reassuring, but if the merfolk don’t play with their victims, then Jaskier is certainly dead.

Jaskier is dead.

Geralt breathes deeply, trying to center himself. He can’t afford to become emotional right now. He can’t afford to think about the anger on Jaskier’s face right before he was pulled under. He can’t afford to imagine the way that anger probably morphed into terror. There are so many things he can’t afford to think about right now. Jaskier’s eyes. The way he curled against Geralt in his sleep. His kindness with Sh’eenaz and his laugh and the way he’d looked standing in the ocean, moonlight glowing on his skin. How he could befriend anyone from the lonely fourteen year old next door to a mermaid who tried to drown him to a witcher who did everything to push him away.

Last night, Geralt was angry at Lambert for reminding him that he only had about sixty years left with Jaskier, at best. Right now, Geralt would give anything for sixty more years, for another day, for another hour, for another minute.

Jaskier is dead. He died alone and afraid under the water, probably believing Geralt would rescue him until the end. He always trusted Geralt to come rescue him. Geralt wonders if he drowned, or if he was stabbed and bled out. Geralt doesn’t know which one would be the more merciful death. 

“Geralt,” Lambert says. “You need to hold it together. Those things are still out there and if we don’t stop them, there will be other Jaskiers.”

Geralt wants to tell him that there will only ever be one Jaskier, but Lambert is right. He needs to hold it together.

“If nothing else, we need to at least bring the kid’s body back to his family,” Lambert says. “Did he have a family?”

“Parents in Lettenhove. They weren’t close.” Geralt doesn’t even know their first names or how to contact them. Calanthe would know, but he doesn’t know where she and Ciri are hiding these days. Calanthe and Ciri were the closest thing Jaskier had to a family and he doesn’t even know how to contact them to tell them what happened. He’ll have to pass the message through Yennefer.

“We’re going to need to get supplies,” Lambert says. “If you’re right and their nest is out near the underwater hotel, we’re going to need scuba gear.”

“Scuba?”

“You’ll hate it, don’t worry.” Lambert’s smile is forced. “I’m sorry, Geralt. I didn’t realize.”

He doesn’t need to elaborate on what he didn’t realize. That Jaskier was kind and sweet and funny and smart. That from the moment he entered Geralt’s life, he knocked the witcher off-balance, disrupted the inertia that Geralt had been living in for centuries. That before Jaskier, Geralt was having trouble remembering what the point of all this was. That in the less than a year Geralt knew him, he somehow managed to burrow his way into Geralt’s heart in a way that no one, not even Yennefer or Renfri, had before.

That Geralt loved him.

Fuck, Geralt isn’t sure how to live in a world where Jaskier is dead.

“Come on.” Gently, Lambert helps Geralt to his feet. His gentleness makes everything worse. “We need to get moving. We’re going to get those bastards, I promise.”

Geralt nods and follows Lambert towards the boat. One way or another, he’s going to bring Jaskier home.

***

What saves Jaskier is his excellent lung capacity. Twenty years of singing has given him not only the ability to talk endlessly without pausing for air, but also to hold his breath underwater for longer than the average person. He struggles against the arm wrapped around his waist, kicking with all his might, but his captor doesn’t falter. They’re swimming fast, cutting through the water at a speed that would put Lambert’s boat to shame. Jaskier’s lungs and head feel like they’re going to explode and he knows he should just open his mouth and let the water in. Drowning is probably a kinder fate than whatever the merfolk have planned for him. But his jaw stays stubbornly clenched, refusing to accept death.

Something slams into Jaskier and his captor. The hold around Jaskier’s waist releases. He knows he should swim for the surface, but he has no idea which way is up or down. Around him, figures dart through the darkness. The coppery tang of blood fills the water. Hands grab Jaskier by the shoulders and he just has time to think that Geralt’s hands have grown very small and cold before he loses consciousness.

“Come on, blue eyes, breathe.”

Jaskier is lying on solid ground and vomiting up more seawater than he knew it was possible to fit into a human body. He heaves and shudders until finally there’s nothing left to come up. He squints up with bleary eyes and finds Sh’eenaz sitting next to him. He’s lying on a wide, flat rock in a cave. Water laps at his feet and he draws his legs up, scared of what might be lurking beneath the surface.

“Where are we?” he asks. Or, tries to ask. His voice is roughened by seawater and fear.

Sh’eenaz still seems to understand him. She pats him on the back. “My home. You’re safe here for now. They don’t know where I live.”

Jaskier closes his eyes. “Well, that's a relief.”

“But in a few hours, the tides will rise and this entire cave will be underwater.”

“Fuck.”

“Exactly.” The mermaid’s tail thrashes in agitation. “I could leave to go get your witcher, but I can’t guarantee they won’t find you while I’m gone.”

“You could take me with you.”

She shakes her head. “They’re out there, hunting for you. Carrying you, I’ll be an easy target. How did you manage to make the most dangerous enemy in the sea?”

“Pure talent.” Wincing, Jaskier drags himself into a kneeling position. Everything hurts. “Who are they?”

“They call themselves the—” The word Sh’eenaz utters has at least a dozen syllables, arranged in such a way that they’re incomprehensible to Jaskier. He’s always been good with words, but he’s at a loss. He decides to go on calling them the merfolk. “They’re an ancient race. Very insular. They don’t even bother with their fellow sea peoples. They live in the depths of the ocean, where no human has managed to reach.”

“Then what the fuck are they doing here?”

“They lay their eggs closer to shore, have for millenia. Their mating ground is right where that ridiculous hotel is being built.”

“Of course.” Stupid Agloval and his stupid hotel. “Of course of all the places Agloval could have built his hotel, it was right on a merfolk mating ground.”

Sh’eenaz sniffs disdainfully. “If he ever listened, he would have known. I told him about them years ago, the old fool.”

“You know him?”

“Unfortunately.”

“So eighteen people have died because Agloval cock blocked a bunch of merfolk.”

“Yes, that about sums it up. And it will be nineteen, as soon as they find you.”

Gods damn it, Agloval better pay Geralt every penny he owes for this job. “If you leave now, they might leave you alone.”

She gives him an exasperated look. “Don’t be stupid. You saved my life. I’m returning the favor.”

“You already returned the favor. Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet.” Sh’eenaz stiffens, then twists to face the entrance of the cave. “How good is your witcher at finding people?”

“Great on land. I’m not sure how great in the water.”

“Pray to your human gods that he learns.”

Six merfolk appear in the mouth of the cave. Four of them have spines on their backs; the other two are smooth-backed. It’s impossible to tell how tall they are with most of their bodies underwater, but all six are broad enough to put Geralt to shame. The one in front already has its knife drawn. Of the ones with spines, its are the longest, nearly as long as Jaskier’s femur. It speaks in a low, guttural voice. Jaskier doesn’t recognize the language.

“I don’t understand,” he says in Elder.

“Be quiet, blue eyes,” Sh’eenaz hisses. “You’re just going to make her angry.”

The creature’s expression doesn’t change. She says something else in the same incomprehensible language. Jaskier can only decipher one word: “Witcher.”

He swallows. “I’m not the witcher. But if you need a hostage, I’m a great hostage. Pretty much a professional at this point. You’ll just need to keep me alive if you want to use me. And Sh’eenaz too.”

He thinks it’s a pretty compelling argument, but they must not agree, because the first attacker moves towards them in a blur, its blade aimed directly at Jaskier’s face. He doesn’t even have time to start pleading. There’s a shriek of rage and Sh’eenaz throws herself between Jaskier and the advancing creature, seizing the blade by its hilt. She doesn’t try to take it from its wielder, but holds it in place only inches from Jaskier’s left eyeball. She speaks in the same guttural language as the merfolk, her eyes blazing with anger. The creature tries to lunge past Sh’eenaz, but the mermaid holds firm. They exchange a flurry of angry words. Jaskier knows that it’s his life that’s being debated, but all he can do is wait with his heart in his throat.

Finally, Sh’eenaz turns to him. “You have the ear of the witcher, correct?”

“What? Um, yeah, sure.” Jaskier’s eyes flicker between the mermaid and the knife about to pierce his skull.

“He does what you tell him to.”

“That might be a stretch… I mean, yes.” At Sh’eenaz’s pointed look, Jaskier nods vigorously. “He hangs onto my every word with bated breath.”

“They can’t understand you. No need to lay it on so thick.”

The sea creature holding the blade says something. She doesn’t withdraw the knife, but Jaskier sees her grip on it loosen.

“They may let us live,” Sh’eenaz says.

“May? So there’s a may not?”

“They will require you to act as a mediator between them and the witcher. Whether or not you’re allowed to live depends entirely on if they like what you say.”

“And if they don’t?”

Sh’eenaz looks at the knife. “I don’t need to lay it out for you, do I?”

Jaskier lets out a terrified little laugh. His survival, and Sh’eenaz’s, depends entirely on him managing to be diplomatic and not saying anything stupid.

Fuck.

Jaskier has always been good at talking. He’s always been good at knowing exactly what needs to be said to ease the tension in the room or soothe hurt feelings. An ex-girlfriend once told him he could convince a daffodil to turn purple. She didn’t mean it as a compliment, but Jaskier took it that way. His voice is his greatest asset. He’s good-looking, but not incredibly attractive. Smart, but not a genius. Friendly, but lacking the effortless charisma he’s always aimed for. But whatever he’s lacking in those other areas, he can usually compensate with witty one-liners.

Right now, he doesn’t think witty one-liners are going to do shit.

So instead of his initial inclination to babble at the merfolk until they decide to let him live, he listens.

Sh’eenaz translates the merfolk’s words to him as they speak. She tells him that the merfolk’s eggs take years to hatch, so the building of Agloval’s hotel in the middle of their mating grounds wiped out an entire generation. She tells them that there had been a debate for years about whether to move their mating grounds somewhere more remote, but this was how they’d always done things, what their biology drove them to do, and they were loathe to change just to accommodate the encroaching humans. She tells them of the merfolk’s desperation to keep their few surviving eggs alive.

The merfolk’s faces are more fish than human, but something in their expression as their leader tells their story is so poignantly human that it makes Jaskier’s heart hurt. Agloval may not have known what he was doing when he started building the hotel, may not have remembered Sh’eenaz’s long-ago warning, but Jaskier doubts he would have stopped the construction even if he did know. Agloval might call that business; Jaskier calls it genocide.

“Look, I’m going to be honest with you,” Jaskier says when the merfolk’s leader (their general? Their queen? He’ll have to ask Sh'eenaz to clarify later) is done talking. “Agloval isn’t going to give up construction of his hotel easily. He’s put a lot of time and money into this. Men like him don’t just walk away.”

Sh’eenaz gives him a doubtful look, but translates anyway. The leader responds by letting out a hoarse cry and raising her sword to the ceiling defiantly. The others mimic her. Sh’eenaz doesn’t bother translating that; he gets the gist. Jaskier is very aware of the rising water level in the cave. The rock he’s sitting on is mostly submerged. And something tells him that the merfolk won’t let him leave this cave until he’s given them what they want. He needs to talk fast, or he’s going to drown before they get a chance to stab him.

“I’m a journalist.” Jaskier turns to Sh’eenaz and asks, “Do they have a word for journalist?”

Sh’eenaz says something to the merfolk. “I told them you were a storyteller,” she tells Jaskier.

“Close enough,” Jaskier says. “Threats aren’t going to make a man like Agloval back off. It’s a point of pride for him. He’s just going to dig his heels in. Trust me. I was raised by one. I know how they work.”

“Get to the point, blue eyes,” Sh’eenaz says through gritted teeth. “This cave will be underwater within an hour.”

Jaskier swallows. “You can kill as many tourists as you want, and he’ll keep covering it up. No, the best way to hurt Agloval is to hurt him financially. And the best way to do that is through the court of public opinion. I can tell your story. How you were a peaceful population of merfolk until thousands of your babies were killed by one man’s ignorance. How you lashed out at the local population because you thought they were coming to kill the rest. How this is really all Agloval’s fault, because he’d been warned and he chose to ignore it, and then he covered up the consequences of his mistakes.”

The leader growls something at Sh’eenaz. Sh’eenaz tells Jaskier, “They don’t want humans to know they exist. That’s what’s kept them safe all these years.”

“It’s a bit too late for that,” Jaskier says. When Sh’eenaz translates, the leader’s grip on her blade tightens. Jaskier adds quickly, “We have the internet these days. Cell phones. Word travels fast. Someone will find out about you eventually, especially now that you’ve killed eighteen people. The best thing we can do now is control the narrative. If we wait for some scuba diver with a camera to be the one to discover you, they’ll paint you as bloodthirsty monsters. Humans will come after you and they have worse things than knives. You need humanity to find out about you on your own terms.”

The merfolk are silent.

“I can help you,” Jaskier says. “The witcher, Geralt, will help you too. He kills monsters, not scared parents trying to protect their young. I’ll talk to him and we’ll try to get Agloval to relocate the hotel. And if not, we’ll turn the matter over to the court of public opinion.”

Sh’eenaz translates and the merfolk confer among themselves. After a couple of minutes (the water is now lapping at his waist) Jaskier asks Sh’eenaz, “What are they saying? Are they going to let us go?”

She keeps an eye on the merfolk. “They haven’t decided yet.”

The leader turns to Jaskier and Sh’eenaz. Jaskier imagines that her face is almost friendly, right before a scuba diver emerges from the water and runs one of the merfolk through with a sword. The cave erupts into chaos. Sh’eenaz places a hand on Jaskier’s chest and shoves him backwards, pinning him against the wall of the cave. She does her best to block him with her body, but she’s so much smaller than him.

“You can swim out of here, while they’re distracted,” Jaskier tells her desperately.

She gives him an incredulous look.

A second scuba diver emerges from the depths. Even without being able to see any of his features, Jaskier recognizes him immediately. “Geralt!”

Geralt looks up and freezes. It’s impossible to read expressions in his eyes when they’re all black like that, but the way he stares at Jaskier for a long moment gives everything away. Geralt probably thought that he was dead, stabbed or drowned. Gone. But one of the merfolk lunges at Geralt and the moment is broken as Geralt turns to parry the blow.

“Shit,” Jaskier says. “They’re going to kill each other. Geralt!”

He slips past Sh’eenaz and swims into the fray. Sh’eenaz darts around him, circling him in an attempt to keep the other merfolk away from him. He paddles towards Geralt, trying to ignore all the near misses with blades that come perilously close to him. This might be the stupidest thing he’s ever done, and there’s a lot of competition. The leader is swimming towards Geralt, her face full of murder, and Jaskier lunges in between them, trying to hold his hands up in supplication while using his feet to furiously tread water.

“Wait!” he yells, his words garbled as his mouth dips below the water. “Wait, we can talk about this! Remember what I said!”

“Jaskier.” Geralt seizes Jaskier by the arm. “You need to—”

“No,” Jaskier snaps. “I was just coming to an understanding with them when you came in and started stabbing everyone.”

Lambert snorts. “An understanding?”

“Yeah, Lambert, it’s when you fucking talk to someone instead of coming in swords swinging. Try it sometime.” Jaskier turns back to the leader of the merfolk, eyes wide. “I want to help you. We want to help you. But first, we all need to put down our blades.”

Sh’eenaz translates. After the leader replies, she turns to Geralt and Lambert, “Witchers, she says that you need to put down your swords first.”

“Like hell,” Lambert growls.

Sh’eenaz ignores him, her eyes locked on Geralt. “There are more of them than there are of us, and there are more coming. They like Jaskier. They don’t want to kill him. But they will. They’ll kill all of us.”

Geralt hesitates, then lets his sword go. It sinks into the water and vanishes. A moment later, Lambert follows suit with a muttered curse about Jaskier’s mother. Jaskier watches as, one by one, the merfolk follow suit. He presses himself against Geralt, teeth chattering. Geralt puts an arm around Jaskier’s waist and holds him close. It’s very tempting to let Geralt take things from here, but Jaskier realizes that Sh’eenaz and all the merfolk are looking directly at him. At some point in the last couple of hours, he stopped being just the mediator between the merfolk and the witcher and became the one who’s supposed to fix everything.

“Tell them what you told me,” Jaskier tells the leader of the merfolk. “And then, we’ll fix this.”

***

Jaskier can’t say that he’s surprised when Geralt comes stalking out of Agloval’s office, eyes still darkened from the potion and expression stiff with barely contained fury.

“I take it he’s not willing to relocate the hotel.”

“He’s planning on calling in the Navy. He has friends in the emperor’s court.”

Jaskier lets out a long, slow breath. “Fuck. And our payment?”

“We didn’t bring him any merfolk heads, so there will be no payment.”

Leaning against a gilded statue of a dolphin, Lambert snorts. He doesn’t say “I told you so,” but he doesn’t need to. His smirk says plenty.

“He realizes that people are going to keep dying right?” Jaskier asks. “Navy or no Navy.This will be a full out war and at the end of it, his hotel is as good as fucked.”

“He realizes,” Geralt says. “He’s scared and he’s trying to save face.”

Jaskier pushes himself up from the wall. “I’ll be back.”

“You think you’re going to talk him around, minstrel?” Lambert asks.

“I think I just talked a dozen merfolk into not killing us all, or did you think your snarling at them was what was going to do it?” Jaskier doesn’t wait for him to reply before he stalks into Agloval’s office.

The man doesn’t look up from his computer. “I made my position clear with your witcher colleague. The monsters are still alive, so you don’t get a penny.”

“I don’t care about that right now.” Jaskier slams his phone down in front of Agloval. “I just wanted you to take a look at this.”

“And what is this?” Agloval doesn’t look at the phone or Jaskier.

“It’s the blog post that I’m working on,” Jaskier says. “If you’ve done any research on me, and I’m sure that you have, you’ll know that my blog has a following. The songs I post routinely go viral. My stories often make national news. Not to toot my own horn, but I’m kind of a big deal. And I’m pretty sure this one is my best work yet. A rich, greedy prick wipes out an entire generation of merfolk eggs, gets eighteen people killed, and then has the balls to keep building his hotel. This story has everything the people want. Sex, pathos, violence, hating on rich assholes. It’s going to be big. A lot of people are going to read it and they’re going to know exactly who to blame for what happened. And you and your hotel will be finished.”

Agloval is quiet for a long moment. “Name your price.”

Jaskier gives him a number and the man snorts. “That’s twice what I was going to pay the witcher.”

“The ‘publish’ button is right there and my finger is getting itchy, Agloval.”

“Fine.” Agloval reaches into his desk drawer. Jaskier tenses, but all he pulls out is a checkbook. “If you’re such a big deal, what the hell are you doing, following a witcher around?”

“Because, he’s my witcher. And I’d follow him anywhere.” Jaskier reaches for the check, but Agloval holds it back.

“I want to watch you delete that post.”

“The check first.”

Hesitantly, Agloval slides the check across the desk. Jaskier deletes the blog post, then uses his banking app to deposit the check before the bastard can cancel it. Then he shoots Agloval a brilliant smile. “Pleasure doing business with you.”

Agloval’s face is red with anger. “I never want to see you or the witcher in this town again.”

“You run a tacky, overpriced hotel. You’re not the mayor. Fuck off.” Jaskier doesn’t let his smile waver as he strolls out of the office. He keeps smiling as he walks past Geralt and Lambert in the hallway and out of the resort. The witchers follow behind him like confused ducklings.

“What happened in there?” Geralt asks, once they’re clear of the resort.

“I showed him my blog post and he paid me twice what he was going to pay you to delete it. Anyone else feel like having some lobster tonight? I could really do with some lobster.”

“You deleted it?” Geralt sounds appalled.

“I deleted the first draft,” Jaskier says. “It wasn’t my best work. It was a little overwrought. The second draft is safely in my Notes app. I even got pictures of Sh’eenaz and a few of the merfolk.”

Lambert lets out a surprised laugh. “So you took bribe money, and then didn’t do the thing he bribed you to do?”

Jaskier shrugs. “What is he going to do, sue me for breach of contract?”

Lambert claps him on the shoulder, so hard that he almost knocks Jaskier off his feet. “I didn’t think you had it in you, kid.”

“I guess I’m full of surprises.” Jaskier grins. He’s never going to like Lambert. Lambert will probably never like him. But right now, they seem to understand each other, at least for this moment.

“Alright, Geralt, you heard the kid,” Lambert says. “Lobster dinner’s on him.”

***

Later that night, Geralt and Jaskier stand on the very rock where Jaskier was grabbed only a few hours before. Jaskier doesn’t miss the way Geralt stands in between him and the water. Sh’eenaz has her elbows propped up on the rock and is peering up at them with exasperation.

“Of course he wasn’t going to willingly give up the hotel,” she says. “Not without a fight. He’s always been a fool.”

“Well, we’re giving him one.” All night, Jaskier has been watching the number of hits on his blog post rise. He’s already had two journalists from national news channels call him. This is going to be big, possibly bigger than “Toss a Coin to Your Witcher.” People are furious on the merfolk’s behalf and at Agloval already, and the post has only been live for a few hours. By tomorrow, there will be no turning back for Agloval.

“What now?” he asks Sh’eenaz.

“I’ve told the others that I’ll act as a go-between for them and the humans,” Sh’eenaz says. “I’ve had more contact with humans than most mermaids. I know that bastard Agloval well. I can handle him.”

Jaskier grins. He almost feels bad for Agloval. “Is he the human that tried to make you give up your tail for him?”

Sh’eenaz smiles wistfully. “He wasn’t always such a prick, believe it or not. When he was young, before the money, he genuinely loved this town. He loved the ocean. He loved me.”

“Well, he really is a prick if he let you go,” Jaskier says.

The mermaid tosses her long green hair. “You don’t have to tell me that, blue eyes. It was the worst mistake he ever made, until he made an enemy of the sea. And of me.”

Now Jaskier really feels bad for Agloval. “Thanks again for earlier. You saved my life.”

“I told you, blue eyes, I owed you.” She looks between him and Geralt. “You two will come back and visit?”

“I don’t think Jaskier is going to give me a choice in the matter,” Geralt grumbles.

Jaskier elbows him. “You know it.”

“Then until we meet again.” Sh’eenaz blows him a kiss and vanishes into the water.

Geralt and Jaskier stand in silence for while, looking out at the darkened water. The stars are brilliant in the sky, the moon is low, and the only sound is the waves lapping against the rocks. To Jaskier’s surprise, it’s Geralt who breaks the silence. “I thought you were dead.”

“You’ve thought that a couple of times.”

“Not like this.” Geralt shakes his head. “I was sure I’d lost you when they dragged you under the water.”

Remembering their conversation before he got pulled under, Jaskier sighs. “Is this going to set off another round of brooding, Geralt? Because we’re going to need to go back to the restaurant and get me more beer, if that’s the case.”

“I’m sorry for what I said earlier. It’s hard to live so long and to know that I’ll outlive all those I care about.” Geralt sounds stiff and uncomfortable, like he’s rehearsed this apology.

Jaskier shifts closer to him, their shoulders bumping. “Geralt, that’s what all humans go through. We all know that we’re either going to lose the people we care about someday, or they’re going to lose us. Our family, our friends, our partners. And for the most part, we choose to love other people anyway. Because what’s the point of having a long life if you go through it alone?”

“I’m not human,” Geralt says.

“Bullshit,” Jaskier tells him. “Underneath the black eyes and the super strength, you’re as human as the rest of us. You got scared and you lashed out. You thought you lost me, and you grieved. You saw a tribe of cornered merfolk and decided to help them instead of killing them. You have more humanity than anyone I know.”

Geralt doesn’t reply.

“And I have to admit, I’m kind of excited to be an eighty year old walking around with my young, hot boyfriend. People are either going to think I’m extremely rich or extremely good in bed.” Jaskier realizes what he just said and feels his face turn hot. “I mean, if you still want to be with me when I’m eighty, of course.”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Jaskier laughs nervously. “I know sixty years is basically a summer fling to a witcher, but that’s the rest of my life. That would be a big deal.”

Geralt’s brow furrows. “Do you not want to—”

“Of course I do,” Jaskier says. “I love you.”

The few times he’s said those words to a romantic partner before, he’s made it a grand declaration. There were candles and flowers, poetic speeches, the occasional song. Once, there was almost sky writing, but an ill-timed thunderstorm foiled his plans. But with Geralt, the words come out matter of fact and calm. There’s no need for all that drama; he’s never meant those three words more in his life.

Geralt is quiet for a moment, in which Jaskier thinks he might puke, then he says, “I love you too.”

Jaskier lets out a breath. “Thank gods.”

“Jaskier, do you really think I’d be worrying about losing you in sixty years if I didn’t love you?”

“That’s basically a one night stand to you, Geralt.”

“How old do you think I am?”

Jaskier grins and leans in to kiss him. They stand there for a long time, holding each other while the waves crash on the rocks below them. In the morning, they’ll head back to Posada and rejoin the real world. Jaskier will have interviews to give and impassioned blog posts to write. He’ll still need to make sure the merfolk here are protected. There will be other monsters, human or otherwise, to deal with.

But tonight, Jaskier gets the vacation he wanted. And it’s exactly what he needs.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! I'm going to be taking a brief break from this series while I work on a superhero AU that I've been outlining for awhile. But don't worry, I promise I'm not done! These idiots will be back shortly.


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